


Believe (I Want You)

by euhemeria



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Character Study, F/F, Getting Together, Religious Imagery & Symbolism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-14
Updated: 2019-01-14
Packaged: 2019-10-10 09:23:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17423219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/euhemeria/pseuds/euhemeria
Summary: There is little reason for Widowmaker not to live joyfully.  Few enough people are given a chance at a second life; Amélie is dead, yes, but she is alive, and intimately aware of every slow beat of her heart.  This, Sombra can understand.Or,Sombra considers the nature of sin, of intent, and of happiness, and somewhere along the way, falls in love.





	Believe (I Want You)

**Author's Note:**

> this is for bex, whose birthday it is today!! she got me into spiderbyte so... here is... some spiderbyte. which i have never written before. i am a good aligned character fucker. AND YET here we are....
> 
> also bex loves jewish sombra... so jewish sombra

I.  Avon

Having grown up in Mexico, Sombra knows a good deal about Catholicism, knows well what it is to be surrounded by it, and to endure the assumption of affiliation due to proximity.  _Endure_ is a loaded word, of course, but there is an indignity to it, every time, a reminder that to so many people she is and always will be _other_.  One grows used to such treatment, and in time it is less sharp, that feeling, until it fades to only a conscious irritation, a moment in passing—even as the pain of a thousand indignities shoved aside grows, and with it, the resentment—so by the time Sombra joins Talon, she rarely voices her frustration at such things, knows better than to do so, tries her best to brush it aside.

Still, being the only Jew in a group of _five_ Catholics is unpleasant, to say the least.  Worse, still, is the fact that they are none of them religious, and think, therefore, that they do not carry with them the implicit biases of their religion.  This is not to say that they are terrible to her, or openly anti-Semitic—although Moira’s discussion of the next stage in evolution and genetic superiority will always reek of eugenics to Sombra, and she does wonder, sometimes about the depths of those sentiments, and trusts Moira far less than the others as a result—but they do not think, sometimes, when they speak, do not stop to consider the full implication of their words.  When they dismiss prayer as begging for someone else to step in and solve one’s problems, when they say religion was used as a tool to control the masses, thinking of Catholicism’s role in the Middle Ages and colonialism, when they all, conveniently have Christmases off, but Sombra has to beg off a mission on Yom Kippur, Sombra bites her tongue.  She bites her tongue and she does not say _your religion is not mine_ , does not tell them that they are religious, at least culturally, else they would not think the things they do, would not say the things they do, would not act as they do.

She does not—because she knows she is outnumbered, because she knows they do not think they are religious, and therefore would not acknowledge her critique, because she knows she will look emotional and irrational and all the things that they are supposed to be moving beyond, as an organization.

When Moira says bris is at least as barbaric as any of her experiments, if not more so, Sombra does not bother to argue, for she knows that Moira will _never_ understand the significance, and furthermore doubts she could get through the conversation with anything approaching civility.  She knows, too, that if she does become angry, if she yells or shows her hurt, then Moira will take it as a victory, smugly calm as ever, will believe that because she can afford to be detached, that she is more rational and, therefore, correct.  As if rationality determined all which was _right_ and _proper_ in the world, as if the veneer of objectivity did anything but reinforce existing systems of power.

As she fights to keep calm, Widowmaker watches passively from an exam chair, not oblivious to the tension but certainly _uncaring,_ and Sombra finds herself jealous, not for the first time.

It is not right, she knows, to be jealous of Widowmaker, to envy her when she has so little, when everything she was was stolen from her years ago.  It is not right because she does not wish she were in Widowmaker’s position, not truly, would never wish upon herself that total denial of personhood, and it is not right because to covet is a sin.  It is a sin of avon, and she feels guilty for being envious, even as the thought is there.

But how could she not be envious?  Even the shame she feels is a reminder of her own inadequacy beside Widowmaker.  It is the natural state of people to sin, of course, to be imperfect, and what is important is to try one’s best in one’s unique circumstances to be as good as one man—for Sombra, that means being a Mitzvah, but she does not know that she agrees with all 613 Mitzvot, and what is more, she cannot always follow even those she agrees with, and must always wonder: is she trying hard enough?  It is the natural state of people to sin—but Widowmaker is not a _natural_ person, was forged not by God but by Moira, and she was made not to have free will, and the shortcomings which accompany it, but to be _perfect._ Widowmaker need never worry about pleasing her creator, for she is capable of nothing less.

That should not make Sombra jealous, is childish, is an oversimplification, is dismissive of what the woman Widowmaker was before must have suffered, and Sombra knows better than to envy, but how can she not?  Widowmaker is _perfect_ , quite literally, and there is much more to her perfection than simply her ability to kill.  She moves with the sort of ease that accompanies wealth, the self-assuredness bred in the privileged, the knowledge that she could go almost anywhere and be comfortable—another thing for Sombra to envy, for although Sombra is a chameleon, is willing and able to change herself to go unnoticed in any environment, she never truly feels at ease among the privileged, and certainly cannot go anywhere as _herself—_ does not even know whom she is, beneath all of her masks.

Even before she was Widowmaker, was made _perfect_ , Widowmaker’s path to perfection was easier than Sombra’s, for she had far less to overcome; if she were wealthy, Sombra knows, it would be far easier to be a ‘good’ person, to follow the Mitzvot and to help others, without ever needing to get her hands dirty.  If Sombra had been born in Widowmaker’s position—well, she would not be Sombra at all, really, would be Olivia, not a hacker or someone trained to stand on her own two feet, not a girl who clawed her way through the Crisis alone, but—she would not have squandered it so, or she does not think she would have. 

But in the eyes of her own maker, Widowmaker squandered nothing.  She is just as she should be, and she does not—cannot—feel Sombra’s guilt, will never be made to, for she is not lacking. 

For all of this, Sombra does not hate Widowmaker; in fact, she is quite fond of her, considers her a friend.  Neither of them can help how they were made, and it would not be right to hold Widowmaker’s origins against her, would not do to hate her friend for being the best possible version of herself.

No, what Sombra feels for Widowmaker is something far more complicated than envy, or hatred, or even distaste.

 

II.  Kavvanah

In time, Sombra comes to learn that some of the things she assumed about Widowmaker were quite incorrect, and her colleague is not, in fact, the perfect assassin she presents herself as.  This is not to say that Widowmaker is not good at her job, is not to say she is not deadly, is not to say she does not fulfill her missions perfectly, barring outside interference, but she, like Sombra, can feel remorse, even if she cannot change her course.

This, Sombra learns by asking what Widowmaker did over Christmas—more out of courtesy than curiosity—and learning that her friend still visits her slain husband’s grave.  _Do you regret it?_ she wants to ask, as if she did not already know the answer, as if it were not writ across Widowmaker’s face.

Everything Widowmaker does is perfect, is exactly as it ought to be—but does that matter?  What is perfection worth, if it does not grant happiness, or peace of mind?  If one does not _want_ to do something, can one even do it perfectly?

That is a question of intent.

To say that Sombra avoids thinking about the morality of things would be an oversimplification, but given the particular path she has elected to take in pursuing her goals, the flexibility of which she adheres to conventional morality and the fluidity with which she approaches problems, believing firmly that _her_ ends, at least, will justify her means, given the importance of her goals.  On some level, she is _always_ thinking about morality, always justifying—to herself, if to no one else—what it is she has decided she must do, but this does not mean that she often acknowledges as much, does not mean that she likes to think for too long or too deeply about the overarching implications of her various moral decisions, particularly compared to those whom she might condemn. 

(If she thought for too long or too hard about the thousand contradictions of her work with Talon, all the little things she has told herself were necessary, in the moment, in order to achieve a greater goal, one which she may never fully realize—if she thought for too long about that, she might waver, and that is something she can never do.  It is a dangerous game she plays, and the price of hesitation, of losing her conviction, is death.)

Even so, this is a moral question she does not find herself for avoiding, that of intent.

Intention is, after all, at the heart of everything she does; when she kills others, it is permissible, is not murder, because—she tells herself—she does so to save lives, in the end.  Perhaps those she killed were not directly causing others to suffer, but they were a part of a greater web of liars, of killers, of thieves, who would take all that they can from the powerless and use such for their own ends.  In killing those people, in doing the work she is using Talon’s resources for, she _is_ saving others, is bettering the world, even if the results of her actions have yet to materialize. 

What she does is right, what she does is just.

But, then, does not everyone in Talon believe the same of themselves?

Does Akande not believe that in forcing conflict, he will help humanity to grow stronger?  Does Reaper not believe that he is saving others from the forces which destroyed him, who used him until there was nothing left of the man he once was?  Does Moira not believe that her research will allow humanity to become something greater?

All of them think that what they do is for the better, all of them think, like Sombra, that they are genuinely trying to accomplish as much as they can, given their circumstances—even if, for the others, this motivation would not be worded as such, would not be viewed, as Sombra sees things, as a pursuit of perfection, of being a steward to the Earth.

All of them—except for Widowmaker.

What can be said of her actions, if they are not in pursuit of something greater?  How can they be perfect, if Sombra believes—and she does—that intent is so very important in deciding what is right.

Years ago, Sombra’s mother taught her the importance of kavvanah, of praying not to pray, but because one believed in what one was saying, because one had conviction in the importance and impact of such a belief.  To do something _well_ , to do it right, one must have some awareness, some intent behind one’s actions—and if one is not doing something properly, then it cannot possibly be done perfectly.

Sombra does not envy Widowmaker in the slightest, she realizes, could not possibly see herself being happy in a situation where she does things with mechanical perfection but lacks a deeper sense of fulfillment.

Can Widowmaker be happy?  Could anyone, in a life in wherein they are unable to choose for themselves a path which would satisfy them?

Pity is not something Sombra ever thought she could feel for a woman such as Widowmaker—for the woman Widowmaker was before, perhaps, who had her life stolen from her, who was made into a person she likely could not have even imagined—and yet, she thinks she might feel it now.  Yes, Widowmaker has advantages Sombra has never had, but those are vestiges of a life she no longer truly leads, are the last echoes of a woman long dead.  What does Widowmaker have for herself?  What is hers that was not Amélie’s, or thrust upon her by her creation?  What brings her happiness?

Perhaps the perfection Widowmaker brags about, the smug superiority with which she laces her tone, and the haughty air she puts on are all a shield.  Perhaps she has nothing _but_ perfection—and even then, Sombra knows, such perfection is hollow, is meaningless if she does not want it, does not work to attain it.

What would it be to have only her abilities, only the knowledge that she was the best, and no purpose with which to use her skills?  How empty would she feel?  It is an impossible question, of course, for Sombra only became the best because she had to be, in order to accomplish her goals, in order to do what it is she feels she must, for the sake of all those like herself, but she cannot imagine that it would bring her as much pride, as much satisfaction, to accomplish anything, if she had no reason to do so, and if she did not know what it was to fail.

How can Sombra envy Widowmaker, when Widowmaker has less than she herself?  It was wrong of Sombra to ever covet her collectedness, her illusion of perfection, when Sombra herself has something far more valuable—the contentment which accompanies achieving one’s goals, the knowledge that she has tried, and has succeeded for herself, the ability to pursue and the chance to achieve perfect happiness.

III.  Simcha

The coming months reveal that, once again, Sombra judged Widowmaker too quickly, was so focused upon the parts of being Widowmaker which must be _painful_ that she missed, entirely, the fact that Widowmaker does, in fact, find a good number of things pleasurable as well.  Perhaps this is understandable; Sombra finds her own joy, her purpose, in her cause, and too easily assumed that with Widowmaker, the same must have been true.  There are other paths to happiness, however, ones she overlooked without a second thought.

After the first time Widowmaker invites her to spend time in Château Guillard, those other paths become impossible to ignore.

_Hedonism_ , other religions might call it, a misplaced impulse to pursue the joys of the flesh over more intellectual and religious ecstasies.  From what Sombra knows of Catholicism, this is typically discouraged, this drive to enjoy ones’ life _too_ much, or in the wrong ways, for it is through suffering that one atones.

Clearly, Widowmaker does not engage in such self-flagellation, does not concern herself with _guilt_ and _punishment_.  Why should she atone for something she has every intention of doing again, and why worry when it was not even her choice, to begin with?  Why not enjoy her life?  Feeling badly about what she has done will not bring back the dead.

She does feel guilt, yes, does feel remorse for a few of her kills, Gerard chief among them, but why would she allow that guilt to prevent her from ever feeling happiness, particularly when she did not _choose_ to do those things in the first place?  No, there is little reason for Widowmaker _not_ to live joyfully.  Few enough people are given a chance at a second life; Amélie is dead, yes, but Widowmaker is _alive_ , and intimately aware of every slow beat of her heart.

(Such is not hedonism, Widowmaker tells her over a glass of wine, nor anything else Sombra might be more inclined to call it.  It is jouissance, plain and simple.)

This, Sombra can understand.  While not a French philosopher, and certainly not speaking of jouissance, Maimonides believed similarly that there was an impulse—no, a duty—to joy.  To be given life is the greatest gift, and it is wrong to squander it by being miserable; it is a blessing to wake each day, and to know that one still has the power to do, to be, to act.  Who has more reason to be grateful for this than a woman who is in her second life? 

No, Sombra does not fault Widowmaker at all for pursuing those things that make her happy, be they fine wine or ballet or rereading the sort of old, lofty romances that have no appeal at all to Sombra herself. 

She especially does not object when she begins to realize that she _herself_ may be one of the things Widowmaker finds joy in.

(There is no sin in desire, only in desiring the wrong things, in the wrong ways, and Sombra does not see how this could be so, when it feels so right, the two of them passing hours together, Sombra talking while she works and Widowmaker does maintenance on her weapon, or watches surveillance of her next target, or any number of things.)

Realizing it startles her, at first, not because Sombra thinks herself someone unworthy of desiring—she knows very well that she has value, is in fact sometimes _too_ confident—or even because people usually value Sombra for her abilities, or if they are a stranger, her appearance.  Rather, it startles her for two reasons, first, that Widowmaker values her _company_ , not what she can do with and for Widowmaker, and second, because she did not think that Widowmaker was the sort of person who often took joy in other people.

(Yes, Widowmaker has long been among Sombra’s friends, but the people whom Sombra considers her friends do not always reciprocate the sentiment.  She is not naïve, she has noticed this.  Therefore it is a surprise to her that Widowmaker, most solitary among them, would be the one who first begins to seek Sombra out, to invite her to spend time together.)

Realizing it startles her, but Sombra is not the sort of person to let that throw her, not for long.  After all, Sombra _is_ the sort of person who finds joy in being among other people, and if her friendship with Widowmaker brings her joy, makes it easier for her to do her work happily, then that can only be a good thing.

It is right and proper to fulfill the Mitzvot properly.  If Sombra is going to heal the world, then she _ought_ to take joy in that.  Perhaps this is not the strictest interpretation of taking joy in her actions, being happy in part because of the company, but Sombra has never been one to hold to the strictest interpretation of anything, when it comes to morality.  Work such as hers is impossible, if one does so.

When she tells Widowmaker as much, it is evident that Widowmaker does not, entirely, agree.  They have—not an argument, but close to one, a— _passionate_ discussion about morality, then, about what it means to do what is right, and if such things as cultural mores even matter.  They do not reach a conclusion, and Sombra is surprised by how suddenly intense it becomes, by how strongly she feels about this.

Normally, another person’s impressions about whether or not Sombra does the right thing would not bother her at all.

But, then, her relationship with Widowmaker is not _normal_ , is nothing like any of her other friendships.  When she is with Widowmaker, the happiness she feels is different from when she is with her other friends, and their time together is less focused on doing things together, and more on simply _being_ with one another, and—

—And Sombra realizes that, all along, she has been wrong about her feelings for Widowmaker entirely.  She has been distracting herself from the issue, has been focusing on anything _but_ her feelings, telling herself that she _envies_ Widowmaker’s perfection, that she is so concerned for Widowmaker’s ability to be happy for religious reasons, rather than examining what it is she is truly feeling.

(It feels silly, to call it a crush—they are far beyond that point, really, have perhaps been in the process of falling in love for some time.  Sombra is far too experienced to get this worked up about a silly crush, besides.  Yet in all her previous relationships, she went into them _looking_ for something, for love, for sex, for fulfillment, and in this case she simply found it.  That knocks her off balance.)

The next time she and Widowmaker are in private, she does not apologize for their disagreement—she will never apologize for her beliefs and doubts, too, that Widowmaker would do the same for her own, and in any case, there is no real need to, for they were speaking about their own motivations, and not how other people ought to feel—but, instead, she talks about simcha, and how important it is.  Widowmaker understands, not on a religious level, but a personal one, for her own pursuit of pleasure is equally important to her.

Nothing is said outright, not really, but some things do not need to be.  Both of them want to feel joy, both of them bring one another that joy, and so it makes sense for them to pursue that joy together.  In their way, they already have been for some time.

(To kiss that which is holy is a tradition, a way of showing devotion.  Widowmaker is far from holy, but Sombra kisses her all the same.)

**Author's Note:**

> so yeah! hopefully u enjoyed
> 
> lmk Ur Thoughts


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